by Pam Crooks
“Best that you back away from her, Santana,” Sternberg said. “Reckon she’s not going anywhere.”
Neither of them were, Ross thought, grim. A half-dozen men, armed and smelling blood, flanked the lawman. One wrong move, and they’d shoot for sure.
Still, it was damned hard to let go of the bridle. He took his time doing it. He needed to stick close to Lark. Figured she might want him to, besides, considering she had six rifle barrels trained on her.
Seven, including Sternberg’s.
Hell.
Ross’s fingers loosened their grasp, and he eased back. He chanced a quick look at her, saw her wet cheeks, her pale skin, her haunted eyes. That look told him she knew as well as he did she was fresh out of hope.
“Going to ask you to throw down your weapons, Santana,” Sternberg said. “The rifle in the scabbard first. Then the two you got strapped on you. Real easy, now.”
Ross kept his irritation tamped. What did Sternberg think he’d do? Risk a damned shoot-out?
He pulled his Winchester from the leather, tossed it to the ground. The Colts followed. He felt all but naked not being armed, but he saw the sheriff’s side of it. Ross would’ve done the same if the situation was reversed.
“Get down off your horse.” Sternberg’s own rifle lowered, now that Ross was unheeled. “You first, then Wild Red.”
“Her name is Lark Renault,” Ross said, swinging down from the sorrel.
“So she says.”
“We’d both appreciate it if you’d address her proper.”
“Ross, please.” Her husky voice pleaded that he leave the issue alone. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
He tossed her a hard glance, telling her it mattered to him. Telling her, too, he intended to lay a few ground rules up front. Sternberg was in charge, no doubt about it, but Ross refused to be bullied into submission.
Her throat moved, as if she understood and swallowed down further protest. She sat motionless in the saddle with her skirts fanned out behind her. He recalled the time she took getting ready to go to the bank this morning. Chose her best dress, worked her hair up real pretty. Now, the dust had settled into the fabric, dulling its color, and the wind had blown those auburn curls wilder than ever.
She stirred his blood, even now. Fired up the need to protect her, too, and he stepped forward to help her off the horse. He wanted her on the ground with him, close, where it’d be easier to keep her safe.
“Stay right where you are, Santana,” Sternberg barked. “She can get herself down without you.”
Ross halted, though it grated on him to do it. “She’s been riding most of the day. Won’t hurt to give her a hand.”
“I’m all right,” she said and dismounted, quicker than she might have otherwise.
She swayed a mite once she was down, though. She had to be sore and stiff. But she held herself with grace and dignity, and damned if she didn’t make him proud, just looking at her.
Only then, with both of them at the posse’s mercy, did Sternberg sheath his rifle and dismount, too.
“Got a few matters to discuss with you,” he said.
Ross nodded once. He had a grim feeling neither he nor Lark would like what he had to say. “We’re listening.”
The lawman’s badge hung shiny and stern on his shirt pocket. He withdrew a folded paper tucked inside, shook it out. “Did some checking on Jack Friday this morning. Seems there’s still a reward out for his capture.”
“Not surprised,” Ross said. “His justice is long overdue.”
The lawman’s attention shifted to Lark. He studied her long and hard, then produced a second piece of paper, folded like the first. “Got a wire from the folks at the Muscatine County Treasury, too. They caught wind of Ollie’s story about you. Wanted me to know they’ve got a reward up for your capture and arrest.”
Her composure slipped, but she shored it back up again and said nothing.
“Here’s the details, if you care to read about them,” he added and offered her the document.
She made no move to take it. “I don’t, but thank you.”
He shrugged. Refolded the message, returned it to his pocket. “Two wires in one day about a couple of outlaws hiding out in my town, right under my nose.” He shook his head in disgust before leveling Ross with a disapproving scowl. “You packed up and left town with her mighty fast, Santana. Wouldn’t have thought it of you, under the circumstances.”
“Had my reasons, Sheriff.”
“You knew who she was. What she’d done.”
Ross hesitated. Considered the implications of what he was about to admit. “Yes.”
“You knew about Catfish Jack, too.”
“I did.”
Sternberg’s scowl went deeper. “You never let on she’s been holing up with you all this time, either. Or why. Makes me think you’re in cahoots with her somehow.”
“She’s a good woman, Sheriff. Turned her life around since her time in prison. Ask Templeton how honest she’s been. Ask anyone.”
Sternberg glowered. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
“She’s a model citizen. Finer than most.”
“She’s got a price on her head. That changes things.”
Ross clenched his teeth. The lawman was past listening.
Eb Sumner, looking full of piss and vinegar, walked his horse out of the group of riders, and Ross realized he had yet another fight on his hands. He tensed at the hostility in the saloonkeeper’s expression.
“You’re wastin’ your breath defending’ her, Santana,” Sumner snarled. “We don’t want her and her lawless friends in our town.”
“That’s right, Ross.” Joe Rinehart spit a dark stream of Skoal into the weeds. He owned the Bowman Lumber Company, and Ross had given him a fair share of business over the years. “That’s why we’re here. To keep her and her kind out. For good.”
Lark stood still as stone. Ross could feel the hurt cutting through her from the prejudice and hate simmering inside these men. Made him hurt, too.
He raked a condemning glance over each of them. Eb and Joe. Tom Bassett, the contractor who built most of the businesses in Ida Grove, including the bank. Sam Allison, a local stockman. William Fourney, who owned the boot and shoe store right across from Al Asher’s broom shop. And Gil Usher, a tough-as-nails Civil War veteran who farmed just outside of town.
Sheriff Sternberg’s handpicked posse. Each had conducted their financial affairs at the Ida Grove Bank. Each had once stood at Lark’s teller window and trusted her with their money and their accounts.
And now each one burned with a hemp fever that turned Ross’s stomach sour.
“All her fault my boy is dead,” Eb said. “Her caboodling with Catfish Jack makes her responsible.”
Mumbled grunts of agreement went up among the posse.
“Jo-Jo took up with Catfish on his own,” Ross snapped. “She had nothing to do with it. I was the one who killed him, besides. Self-defense, just like I told you last night.”
“She’s guilty of stealing that money in Muscatine, too, ain’t she?” Joe argued. “The sheriff’s wire is proof she is.”
Sumner unhooked a coil of rope from his saddle horn, held it up for the group to see. “I say we take care of matters right here and now. Save ourselves a heap of time and trouble later.”
“That’s enough!” Sheriff Sternberg slashed a glare over the men with a ferocity that kept even the saloonkeeper’s mouth shut. He set his hands on his hips and singled the man out. “Understandable you’re still grieving about Jo-Jo, Eb, but you’re not thinking straight. We’re not judge and jury here. If you’re finding it hard to be fair, then it’s best you head on home right now. You hear me?”
Sumner scowled, but he put the lariat away. “I hear you.”
“Anyone else having trouble obeying the law tonight?” he demanded.
One by one, the men shook their heads. After a long moment, the sheriff appeared satisfied and turned back toward Lark.
Lark darted a panicked glance at Ross. Just about dropped him to his knees, knowing what she was feeling, and a sick panic of his own wedged in his gut.
But she recovered faster than he did. She stood taller, straighter, and held out both fists toward the lawman.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do.”
Ross had always held a deep respect for the workings of the law. Lived it to the letter most all his life. Profited by it, too.
But in this case, justice fell short. He had to keep Lark from going to jail. To do that, the law needed some twisting.
“Wait,” Ross said.
Sternberg did, his thick brow lifted in question.
Now that Lark had come into his life, Ross couldn’t let her out. He had to find a way to keep her with him. A part of him. If he failed now, in the next five minutes, he’d never have another chance.
He took a deep breath. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Chapter Eighteen
He hunkered with Sternberg on the narrow stretch of beach lining the riverbank. The water lapped onto the sand, rushing in, then fading back, making a peaceful, serene sound. Ross doubted Lark took much comfort from it, but the way she stared hard out into the Missouri made him think she tried at least.
She sat on a fallen log, close by where he could keep watch over her, and out of the posse’s earshot. Out of his own, for that matter. She didn’t seem to much care what deal he worked out for her. Or that he even tried. Considering all the men who had tracked her out here, she’d think it wouldn’t do any good anyway.
She’d given up.
But he hadn’t.
She needed him more than she’d ever needed anyone right now. From here on out, he was going to make her decisions for her, whether she appreciated it or not.
Someone in the posse had lighted a torch against the nightfall. The men waited, talking, having a smoke. Leaving Lark’s fate in the sheriff’s hands for the time being.
Ross offered him a rolled cigarette, but he declined. Ross took it to his own lips and lit the tobacco, then inhaled deep, taking the time he needed to sort through the plan jelling in his brain.
“Long ride back to Ida Grove, Santana,” Sternberg said, cutting to the chase. “What kind of deal are you thinking of?”
“One that’ll help us both get what we want.” Ross studied the glowing end of the cigarette. “I figure we’ve got two problems that need solving. Capturing Catfish Jack and recovering the money taken from the Muscatine County Treasury.”
Sternberg shook his head. “You’re forgetting Wild Red—” his lips thinned “—Miss Renault, I mean. Her arrest makes three.”
“No.” Ross’s hard gaze didn’t waver. “She’s the solution.”
“How so?”
“She knows where the loot is. Catfish will follow her to the devil to get his hands on it.”
“I suspect so. But she won’t want to tell us where it is, considering the consequences she’ll be stuck with.”
Ross’s silence showed his agreement. She didn’t want to go back to prison. Who would? She had to know that by cooperating with the law, she’d up her chances to stay out.
He slid a glance toward her. Noted the way her hand trembled when she tucked a breeze-tossed curl behind her ear. How incredibly weary she looked. He turned his attention back to the lawman.
“Fact is, Sheriff, you’re not going to arrest Catfish Jack without her help.”
“Won’t be easy, true, but it’s not impossible, either.”
“Not much you can do that a score of other lawmen before you haven’t tried. Myself, included.”
Sternberg appeared to consider that. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m asking that you trust me with her custody. I’ll do what I can to recover the money from Muscatine and bring Catfish in for you.”
Gray brows shot up. “Alone?”
“That’s right. Take your posse and head on home.”
The lawman’s expression turned defiant. “I can’t do that, Santana. Can’t believe you’d think I would.”
Ross leaned forward. “Spare her the indignity of being arrested by the same men who were once her bank customers.”
“She’s guilty of a crime—”
“—that she committed when she was a kid running with lawless cousins who messed up her thinking on what was right and wrong. She’s turned herself around since then. She’s paid the price demanded by a court of law. She’s respectable, Sheriff!”
Sternberg rubbed his chin, took so long to answer that Ross began to hope he’d agree to the deal.
“How do I know you’re not scheming with her to run off with the treasury money?” the lawman demanded.
The accusation stung. Ross let his resentment show. “I left my sister back in Ida Grove, remember? Chat still needs some raising yet. I’ve no intention of abandoning her, and damn you for thinking I would.”
Sternberg gave him a curt nod, conceding the point. “The possibility crossed my mind, and I had to ask, that’s all.” Sighing heavy, he lifted his Stetson, smoothed the gray hair on his head, and pushed the hat back on again. “I think you’re in love with her.”
Startled, Ross sent his half-smoked cigarette sailing into the Missouri. The stub landed with a tiny plop.
In love with Lark? Where would that get him?
She’d never return to Ida Grove again, not with her reputation ruined. And Ross had responsibilities there. Once he took care of Catfish and the Muscatine money, he’d have to go back. For good.
“You’re wrong,” he said.
“No other reason I can think of why you’re so hell-bent on protecting her.” Sternberg’s mouth curved in a ghost of a smile.
Ross thought of his time with her. The kisses they’d shared. Making love. Hearing her laughter, husky and intoxicating. Even her cooking, and how all those things had wound their way through into his heart.
He frowned, resisting the possibility. “I’ve seen the good in her, that’s all.”
Sternberg grunted and rose to his feet with a grimace, as if his bones had gone stiff.
“Helluva lot of reward money riding on these two cases,” he said. “If things pan out like you think they will, you’ll be a rich man.”
Ross followed him up. “It’s not about the money. Never has been.”
Sternberg shrugged, as if the denial didn’t matter.
“It’s about Lark’s cooperation with the law and getting her sentence commuted,” Ross persisted, driving his point home. “Leniency.”
Their gazes met. He read the shrewdness in the lawman’s eyes. The need for justice so much like his own.
“Not making any promises, Santana. The deal can be done, I suppose, but I’m just a sheriff, not a judge and jury.” He bent, lifted Ross’s confiscated holster with one hand, his rifle in the other, then handed them all over. “In the meantime, I’m hiring you. You’re a damned fine bounty hunter. If anyone can bring Catfish Jack in, recover that money and keep Wild Red alive and agreeable, you can.”
Ross took the weapons.
“I want to be kept informed,” Sternberg continued, looking stern again. “I’ll be expecting a wire from you every day.”
Ross nodded, tried not to hope for more than what the man gave. The worst of the job still lay ahead. He buckled on the Colts. “Consider it done.”
“As for Chat, well, I’ll be watching her close for you. Just to make sure you haven’t abandoned her.”
Ross wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or amused at the implication. “Fair enough.”
The lawman’s gaze lingered on Lark. “I’ll let her know what the plan is.” He took a step toward her. “She needs to understand her part in it.”
“No.” Ross laid a hand on his arm, halting him. “I’ll tell her.”
He wante
d to do the talking when the sheriff wasn’t around, just in case she refused to cooperate. Ross would have his hands full trying to convince her to reveal the money’s location, something the sheriff didn’t need to witness. He’d pull the whole deal, for sure, and Ross couldn’t risk it.
Sternberg reluctantly gave agreement. “Good luck to you, then.”
He headed toward his men, his stride purposeful now that decisions had been made. Like he’d said, they had a long ride back to Ida Grove.
Lark rose slowly from her perch on the log, her gaze riveted to the departing lawman. She strode closer, to better see in the torchlight. “Ross? What’s going on?”
“Sternberg cut us some slack, that’s all.”
The sheriff said something to Eb Sumner, and the other men listened. Mumbles of protest rose up among them, Eb’s loudest of all, but Sternberg barked a command, and they quieted. It wasn’t long before they mounted up, all sending frowns of reluctance in Lark’s direction.
“They’re leaving.” She turned incredulous eyes on Ross. “Why?”
“The sheriff put you in my custody.”
She blinked, her expression gradually showing suspicion. He preferred that over the gut-wrenching despair he’d seen on her most of the day.
“You’re using me, aren’t you? As bait. You and the sheriff. To get Catfish and the Muscatine loot.”
He grimaced at how cold she made him sound. “I’m buying you time, Lark. Trying to get you in the good graces of the law.”
“Sure, you are.”
“You want to be a guest at your own necktie party?”
“Don’t be cynical with me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is Sternberg paying you a decent bounty for my arrest?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means—” He blew out a breath. “You have to cooperate with me.”
The blood had fused back into her cheeks. “And if I don’t?”
“Lark.” He considered getting down on his knees. Would she quit fighting him then? “You know what’ll happen if you refuse.”